ROTG: And Time Goes Marching On
by Rosepoison
Summary: Jack remembers some of his past times, both good and bad. More than slightly fluffy, and probably just as corny. (I have a special place in my heart for corny stuff, so I'm not a very good judge.) No pairings, unless you use a magnifine glass.
1. The Great Snow Strike

**I do not own ROTG (Rise Of The Guardians), I never have, and I never will. Too bad, eh? **

**ALSO the base used for the cover is by So-so-Deviant-Bakura.* **

**. . .**

Jack Frost is sitting in a snowdrift, bored out of his frostbitten mind. He's buried half the world in snow today, and buried the _other_ half yersturday. He's too tired to move, let alone challenge Jamie to a snowball fight, but not too tired to think. He goes over some of his life in solitude, remembering the Titanic, the blizzard of '68, almost freezing Washinton's troop into popcicles . . . He shakes his head, too late to do anything about it now. No reason to go and get depressed about it either. He's the Guardian of Fun, for Pete's sake! He searches his mind for a happier memory, finally stumbling onto it. He smiles, thinking of one of the first times the Guardians had acually paid some attention to him.

_**. . .**_

Okay, this was the last straw. We're talking the 200th Christmas in a row he'd been completely forgotten! Not even a lousy lump of coal! Jack shoves a hand in his pocket, while slinging his staff over his shoulder. He'd fix them, Jack Frost would not go unnoticed! He'd bury North up to his ears in snow . . . Frosty mentally slaps himself. What is he thinking?! Doing his job never got their attention, and it never would. He could put the whole world in a deep freeze and they wouldn't care-provided it started to melt come spring. Jack shuts off the snow blowing around him, a semi-evil grin spreading across his face. He'd just stop making things cold altogether, that'd throw things outta wack for awhile. Just long enough for them to notice his existence, mind you.

Day 1 Of The Great Snow Strike:

So far, nothing. Jack's feeling a little light headed, but not much more. A small price to pay for getting noticed. He's road the wind, which has been tempting him all. Day. Long. Just let loose. Jack just laughs it off, and lets the wind toss him around instead.

Day 2:

'Just a light headache, just a light headache, just a light headache,' Frosty repeats his mantra, refusing to give in. He takes his mind off his head by (manually) starting a snowball fight. *POW* He hits a teenager right in the kisser, who looks around wildly, wondering who hit him. Jack sighs, but lets loose a volly of snowballs. Chaos errupts in record time. So much snow is being thrown around Frosty wonders if he's accidentally lost control of his powers. He doubles over laughing when a particularly grouchy old man gets hit in the cross fire. Headache? What Headache?

Day 3:

Right, THAT headache. Frostbite groans, his head feels like it's splitting open. He gets hint of a memory. It's cloudly, but it seems to be about a man teaching his son to chop wood. Now he knows how the wood feels. No sign from the Guardians, not even Sandy. _They don't care if you live or die. They don't even care if you do your job, just as long as their precious children don't get hurt. We both know that's because they're dead if their believers are. Give up and let loose your fury. Bury them, and kill your headache at the same time. _Jack shakes his head, effectively silencing the poisonous voice in his mind. No, he wouldn't give up. This is the only hope he has left, and he's going to stick to it like the permafrost he is.

Day 4:

The fourth day of the strike adds nausia to headache. Jack feels too poorly to ride the wind for more than ten minutes. "Wind, please, put me down," Jack asks the wind, feeling his stomach heave. He's suddenly glad he hasn't had much to eat for awhile, or this (leftover) snow may not be so pristinely white. The wind puts him down gently, like he could fall apart at any moment. It blows around him worriedly, ruffling his hair. Jack smiles sadly, gripping his staff tighter as another wave of nausea hits. He promises the wind to never do this again, but to please help him ride this out.

Day 5:

Bunnymund paces the Warren, Easter eggs put aside for now. According to North, it hasn't snowed anywhere in the world for the past five days. Has something happened to that stupid Winter Spirit? Is Pitch on the war path? What's going on around here?! This is what he gets for being a recluse . . . Aster stops, deciding to take action. He runs his hand down his face. Great, he's turning into Tooth. He swears that if that Ankle Biter isn't being torured by Pitch at LEAST, he is going to . . . Well, never mind what Bunny's planning on doing. It's unprintable. The Pooka growls to himself, swearing to MiM that heads will roll.

_**. . .**_

Jack can't even see straight, let alone stand up right now. Besides, if he stands up, he's afraid he'll throw up. The wind is going crazy, moaning and groaning. It wordlessly pleas with Jack give in. It nudges his staff, doing everything it can to get the point across. Jack smiles sadly (_again_), weakly holding out his hand in the worried North Wind.

A nervous squirrel runs to tell his friends what's happening to Jack. Word goes around fast in the forest. Things are soon in an uproar with wolves howling and bears yowling. To your run of the mill bystander, it sounds like a portal to the very middle of hell has opened up. A reporter notices this, and soon word is spread around Burgess.

Day 6:

Bunny walks into a clearing, seeing the lake that hasn't taken a child's life for the past 200 years. The whole forest seems to be one big pelt. Thousands of winter animals have come, worried about the one boy that can make winter, winter. Bunnymund's nose soon picks up the scent of weakness and sorrow. It seems even the very wind is crying. Aster starts to feel depressed, and he doesn't even know why. The pieces to this grotesque puzzle start to come together. In the center of the furry mass, near a tree, a white head can be seen. Bunny walks forward, stepping over the crying animals. In this one moment of sadness, the lion is truely lying next to the lamb. Full grown wolves have their tails curled around baby rabbits. Razor-clawed hawks are clinging onto the same branches as sparrows. It absolutely terrifies the Pooka. "Hey, Kangaroo, I didn't think you'd come . . ." Jack tiredly looks up at Bunny, going into a coughing fit. Bunny gingerly picks up the Frost Child up, wondering what could drive him to this.

_**. . .**_

Aster lays Jack down on the frozen ground of the North Pole. Frost feels like he's going to burst, and gratefully lets his power leak out. At first, it's so slow you could almost count the snowflakes. But the wind picks up, Jack's staff starts to glow with energy, and Bunnymund is nearly up to his rabbit ears in snow all too soon. "I-I s-swear, i-i-iif y-you **ever** try this t-trick again, I-I will **throttle** you, Jack Frost. N-next time you want c-company, just ASK. Crickey, F-Frostbite. . ."

**_. ._**_ ._

Jack smiles again, Bunny cought cold after that little episode, and hadn't let him live it down for another centery. But it felt good to know someone knew you were around, even if they continuosly held it over your head. He turns when he hears a familiar **tromp, tromp, tromp, **through the woods. Bunny has taken up that little habbit a year or so after Pitch's defeat. But that is another story. (It's also a heckuva lot funnier.)

** . . .**

**Base link: ?q=hand+base#/art/Almost-Base-143416006?_sid=2c4b796a ***

**I'm not quite sure if this is gonna be a one-shot or not. I guess it depends on the reaction this one gets (and if I get anymore inspiration.)**

**In case you're wondering, Bunnymund told Jack his side of the story, so that's why Frosty can 'remember' what Bunny was feeling.**


	2. Bad Memories And Worse Dreams

**I do not own ROTG (Rise of the Guardians) in any way shape or form.**

_**. . .**_

Jack sits in the middle of Pitch's dungeon. His staff is broken, again, and all Frosty has left to do but sit and wait. Wait for Pitch to decide what he want to do to Jack, that is. Even with his beloved staff in pieces, the Guardian of Fun **can't. Sit. Still. **He's been bouncing around for a half an hour yelling at Pitch to make up his mind already and get it over with. If Pitch's whole plan is to just let Jack rot in prison forever in fear of what Pitch might do to him, it's not working.

Frosty sighs, sitting back on his bunk, still as wound up as ever. "At least put me to sleep will you?! How about giving me my staff and we have a fair fight?! Why not play with my emotions for a bit?! That should be fun!" Jack spits out the word 'fun', thoroughly annoyed at being kept waiting. Finally, the Winter Spirit shuts up, deciding to just try and get some sleep. (Real genius, this kid.) He goes over some of his oldest memories, but somewhere along the line things go wrong . . .

_**. .**__ ._

"FROSTBITE!" Bunnymund howled with rage. The usually blue rabbit was dripping in pink dye, pink glitter, and pink rose petals. The look of complete rage in the rabbit's eye whould make the devil himself shiver in terror. Bunny stalked over to the offending Winter Spirit. "You 'ave exactly five seconds to come up with a 'splanation. If ya can't . . ." Bunny took out an exploding egg. Jack didn't waste time. He ran for the hills, laughing all the way. "_**YA CAN RUN BUT YA CAN'T HIDE!"**_

That's what Bunny thought. Jack didn't take any chances and stayed in the air for a good part of a week. He then took a month-long visit to Greenland. Afterwards, somewhere around a two hundred painted eggs mysteriously appeared. Even when the Southern Hemisphere's winter came, the Warren lay virtually untouched. Aster eventually got tired of Jack's sucking up and forgave him . . . that being his biggest mistake. When he woke up the next morning, then whole place was covered in snow. Even the warrior eggs were frozen where they stood. Bunny didn't talk to Frosty for another two years.

**_. . ._**

Jack grimaces, but the bad memories keep on comin'. The blizzard of '68 pops into his mind.

_**. . .**_

It had been another lousy day of not being noticed. Jack had been walked through three times, nearly got torn apart by an angry mother bear, and he'd just got thrown out of the Santoff Claussen (twice). The spirit had a bleeding shoulder and a heart to match. If this wasn't some kind of a record breaker, he didn't know what it was. He jumped on a random wind, deciding to just do his job and stop procrastinating. Oops, wrong wind. Jack ended up in a snow drift, somewhat dazed. South 'stalks' off, annoyed at being jumped on.

That's the straw that broke the cammel's frostbitten back. Jack just cuts loose, not giving a darn anymore. "OI! Frostbite! What do ya think yer doin'?!" Jack glared at Bunnymund, then dumped more snow on him. A wolfish warning growl escaped Frostbite's lips as he stalked off. A wolf family he had been playing with the other day followed in his footsteps, holding their noses in the air as Bunny shook off the snow. "And they call ME crabby. . ."

**_. ._**** .**

More memories of lonliness and angering Bunny crowd up on Jack. There was the time he almost froze Bunny's tail off. There was the time he inadvertantly made Bunny catch an almost life threatening cold. There was the time he accidentally ruined nearly five hundred eggs. The list goes on and on, none of it's pretty. Jack pulls his knees up to his chest, unable to think of the good times any longer. He puts his head on his knees and groans, he'll never get out of here, will he?

Time now enters the infamous no-passing zone only highschool students can comprehend. The cell becomes even darker, and Jack more and more depressed. He wouldn't feel half so bad if his staff was safely with him . . . But, if he had his staff he wouldn't be in this situation at all, would he? Pitch takes 'pity' on the Spirit and makes him fall into a deep sleep. It seems even his dreams are disturbed. During a snowball fight, someone throws a ball of ice at Bunny, which hits him in the eye. While ice skating, the ice cracks under the large Rabbit, and so on. Jack can't help, or save, his friend. Even in his dreams, it seems.

_**. . .**_

A growling Bunnymund surprises Pitch. He only asks where Jack is, holding a boomerang up to Pitch's throat for an incentive. The Shadow quickly gives up when Sandy and Tooth get into the picture a few seconds later. Bunny goes after Jack, Sandy stays behind to watch Pitch, and Tooth flies after the shepherd's crook. "Hey, Frostbite, ya okay?!" Bunny blasts through the cell's lock, worried about his friend. There, covered by a shadow, lies a _shivering_ Jack Frost. The Pooka is at his side in seconds, shaking his shoulder roughly. "Wake up ya snowflake, it's all right. We're here. We're gonna get ya out."

Jack rolls over on his side, blinking. "B-Bunny what are you . . .?" Jack chokes, feeling a sting in his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"Wha? What for?"

"Everything. The egg dye, your tail, the time you caught that cold. . ." the Guardian of Fun can't trust his voice.

Bunny chuckles, ruffling Frosty's hair. "Water under the bridge. Ya've _saved _my tail a few times too, ya know. Not to mention defeating Pitch. Not even I can hold a grudge too long after that. Now let's get outta here. We can't sit around chatting all day without North getting worried." Jack looks up at Bunnymund sheepishly.

"Um, Pitch kinda . . . took my staff. I can't just leave here without it!"

"Hold yer horses, Tooth's found it by now, so c'mon!"

Jack heaves a sigh of relief, still soar from his staff being broken. The Spirit of Winter practically skips past a furious Pitch, stopping only to give him a toothy grin and myschevious wink. Even Aster has to smirk at the steam practically coming out of the Boogeyman's ears. Yep, mission accomplished.


	3. The Great Easter Egg Heist Of 1802

**I, in no way, shape, or form, own ROTG (Rise of the Guardians). Comprendo señores, señoritas? Good.**

**It's only fair to warn you, I have deeply abused the exclamation point in this story.**

_**. . .**_

Jack lies on his bed (situated in the North Pole), sick as a dog. He's so far coughed up his breakfast, lunch, dinner, and midnight snack. Bunny checks on Jack's IV, then replaces the luke-warm cloth on his head. Honestly, who's ever heard of a Winter Spirit with the flu?! Oh, how Bunnymund wishes Jack was up and around, giving the Warren a preview of the ice age. Well, maybe not the _whole_ Warren. Bunny looks at the dreamsand floating over Jack's head. He suddenly can't help cracking a grin. It looks like Jack is dreaming of the pranks he's pulled back in the day. Bunny of all people should know-they were all on him.

_**. . .**_

Jack smiled evily, but quickly hid it behind a book. Not quick enough for Bunny, however. The giant rabbit was worried enough that Jack was 'reading' a book, but the grin was the clincher. Aster unlocked his door, then pushed it open with a broom handle. Nothing. He carefully checked his room, searching for so much as an exploding dye pack. Bunymund had been covered with enough pink dye lately to scar him for life. The search came up with _bupkis.*_

Aster sighed in relief. Maybe that frostbitten ankle biter from heck was after North this time 'round. Even though he knows better, the Pooka let down his guard when he went to raid the kitchen. *BAM!* A bucket of ice water landed on Bunny's head. "Classy, Frostbite, real classy."

Not so much as a snicker came from Frost's corner of the room. Bunny yanked off the bucket/helmet and searched for North's carrot stash. (North had taken to locking them up like his best vodka whenever Bunny came by.) The Guardian of Hope made a triumphan grunt at finding the lock box. Bunny had shooed the kitchen Yetis out one day, then torn the whole place apart. He had discovered the carrots, and North never bothered to put them in another place. The rabbit picked the lock and grabbed his 'prize'. He snuck back to his room, deciding to paint the few eggs he had brought.

*Crun-*, Bunny stopped in mid-chomp, his eyes bugged out. "Ugh, YUCK!" Bunny sucked in a huge breath of air, then yowled Jack's name. The rabbit's head became one big throbbing vein as Frost opened the door. Bunnymund quietly asked the Guardian of Fun what he did to the carrots, his voice filled venom enough to kill a snake. Jack held up a bottle of (pure) bloodroot juice, eyes twinkling.

"North asked me to take care of his rabbit problem . . ."*

_**. . .**_

Bunny rolls his eyes, and keeps his eyes locked on the sand. He hasn't eaten one of North's carrots to this very day. A new memory plays, and another prank with it.

_**. . .**_

Aster sighed, tired to his very bones. Four hours of painting eggs, two hours of chasing that &*^%) Frostbite, five hours fighting Pitch, and two more hours of chasing Frostbite. The poor Pooka felt like he was going to fall apart, but managed to get to the shower. He stripped off his armor and let his muscles melt in the hot water. He lathered on the shampoo, then started the whole 'lather, rinse, and repeat' bit. He suddely stopped, something smelt funny . . . Ach! Ew . . . "**WHAT IS WITH YOU AND THE BLOOD ROOT?!"** Bunny roared, then shook his fist. Great, that's another two hours shot.

_**. . .**_

The rabbit chuckles. He now has all his soaps under maximum security guard.

**_. . ._**

By heck or high water he was going to make Jack pay for this. This was a disaster on a grand scale . . . no, that wasn't strong enough. This was a _sacrilage_. T'was the day before Easter (1802), and Bunnymund could hear everything crashing around his ears. Every last egg he had painted for the past year was **gone**. He knew exactly who the culprit was, too. For the theif had left a trail of frost for a calling card.

The angered rabbit searched high and low, over hills and under them. He turned the entire country of Australia upside down looking for those eggs. How far could one teenage boy get with over 5 million Easter eggs?! The Guardian of Hope knew one thing-Jackson Overland Frost would pay.

The next day, Bunny continued his search, hoping to get in an at least belated Easter. However, he didn't notice the spots of color dotting the countrysides he passed. It eventually took a six-year old for Bunny to get the picture. "Thank you, Mister Easter Bunny!" he cried happily, holding his egg up to the Pooka. Bunnymund stopped in his tracks. What in the name of sanity was going on here?!

After another hour, a bewhildered Pooka finally gives up. It was clear the eggs were hidden well, not in the tops of trees or near the edges of cliffs. The children were finding them easily enough, no one had to go home empty handed. But what really irked Bunny was that he couldn't take credit for it, and he didn't know who should. (Apparently, he had given up the idea Jack had anything to do with this.)

A few days after the Great Easter Egg Heist, Frosty flew by. He asked Bunnymund if he minded Jack doing his rounds, and if got some rest that Easter. Bunny just smiled patiently (albeit a bit grimly), and said he didn't mind at all. He graciously glossed over losing two days sleep and nearly throttling the Winter Spirit. The Snowflake was, admittedly, a good kid, but couldn't he have just left a NOTE?

_**. . .**_

Bunny wakes up after being jostled roughly. Jack Frost smirks down at him. In a split second, Aster knows he'll be hearing about this for the rest of his life. Supposedly, Cottontail fell asleep whilst reminiscing. Sandy will probably tell you a different story. The Easter Bunny looks sheepish for a second, then quickly starts a glaring contest to cover it up.

No doubt about it. All is offically well in the Santoff Claussen.

_**. . .**_

**Bupkis is Yiddish for absolutely, positively, nothing at all. ***

**If you want to get rid of rabbits in real life, try planting bloodroot, onions, or even a type of flower like daylily. I'm not even sure if there is such a thing as bloodroot juice. Sounds like something a vampire would like, doesn't it? ** **

**. . .**

**Thus endeth my inspiration. Ideas accepted and _extremely _welcome. **


	4. Flight Training

**I don't own ROTG, period. End of sentance. **

**. . .**

Another day, another fight with Pitch, nothing new here. The boogieman is starting to get predicable. Two stabs, a punch, three fearlings unleashed. He hasn't changed his battle plan for the past month. He's been beaten so many times, it's like he's hardly even putting up a fight anymore. Frosty sighs, feeling bored out of his frozen mind. This is worse than the time Pitch captured him. Then, his friends weren't in any danger (not that they really are now). Not to mention he could scream in frustration without the Guardians thinking he was hurt.

"That's it. Pitch, I'm begging you. PLEASE, think of something new. Burn my staff, make a cyclone of fearlings, do _something_!" Jack growls, totally fed up.

"Ah, but I have!" Pitch sneers, snapping his fingers.

A large ball of sand flies over to Jack, making the frost spirit take off through the trees. The two swerve around branches, almost slamming into them. The sand-ball starts gaining on our hero, forcing him to speed up. Frosty wonders where this has happened before. It just seems so _familiar._

Now, any gamer under the sun knows if you speed up, you sacrifice safety, and usually lives. So with the trees whipping around him, and a mass of nightmare sand about to swallow him, it's no too much of a surprise that he smashes headlong into a tree. Oh, yeah, that's what so familiar about this. Our "Tarzan" blacks out almost instantly, a goofy grin on his face.

**. . .**

Frostbite dreams of when he first learned to ride the wind, a task that nearly killed him.

**. . .**

Frosty looks up at the birds, frowning. It seems he can fly, a little, but Jack can't get the hang of it. How is he supposed to spread winter if he has to hoof it?! What about when summer finally rears its ugly head?! He'll melt like an ice cube in a volcano, that's what. Frostbite grits his teeth and resolves to learn to properly ride the wind, or (gulp) die in the attempt.

First things first, how should he get into the air in the first place? Just jump onto the nearest current, call North wind, or jump out of a tree? He decides to just try calling North Wind. He might accidentally jump or land on South wind,and he doesn't feel like being flung into a snowdrift at the moment.

North happily obliges, but a bit too happily. Jack face-plants inot some poor kids' snowman, wondering if he'd have better luck with walking. They don't say flying's for the birds for nothing.

**. . .**

This happens a few more times, causing Frostbite to fracture his leg, and badly bruise every bone in his body. He eventually gets the hang of it, laughing as the sparrows start to give him funny looks. (Those looks consisting of their beaks dropping open or their eyes popping out.) It's, over all, a fairly productive day. Heck, he even managed to rub it in South's . . . um, face?

**. . .**

Frost opens his weary eyes, groaning when he's met with a splitting headache and a fearling's hoof on his chest. He _did_ ask for Pitch to try something new, didn't he? _Be careful what you wish for. _Yeah, yeah, next time he's bored to tears he'll keep his trap shut.

"Well Pitch, what now? Do I hafta give you some more ideas, or are we-"

"Just look this way, smart alec." Pitch interrupts, appearing from the underbrush.

"Don't DO that!" Jack yelps, then turns pale (I mean REALLY pale). Pitch is holding up the winter spirit's staff.

Jack lets out another feral growl, knowing all too well what Pitch is about to do. He braces himself, and looks Pitch straight in the eye, determined not to give him a reaction. One break, clean down the middle. He can do this. He won't let the boogeyman have the satisfaction of a reaction. He can stick it out for a break . . . or two.

Unfortunately, Pitch doesn't plan on letting the Guardian of Fun off that easily.

*CRACK!* Jack shivers, but only slightly.

*SNAP!* He clenches his fists, not breaking his glare.

*THWACK* His knuckles turn white.

*CRA-!* Jack looks up tiredly, wondering if Pitch just wants to drag this out.

The Guardians are all standing around Pitch, murderous looks in their eyes. They all have their weapons centered on various points of his body, all of them lethal. Bunnymund speaks first, but through clenched teeth.

"Put down that staff, an' ya won't get killed."

"I thought the saying went 'put the down and you won't get _hurt_.'" Pitch, ever glib, replies.

"I can't make that kind of a promise."

The Guardian of Fun considers this a good time to black out, hoping to postpone the coming lecture as soon as possible.

**. . .**

**And that's a rap! Managed to make it through the whole thing without a single footnote, too! **


End file.
